


In The Dead Of Night (Love Bites)

by callmedok



Category: Brütal Legend
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Fingerfucking, Laughter, Light Bondage, Love Bites, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scratching, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, Threesome - F/F/F, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-06 02:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmedok/pseuds/callmedok
Summary: The Doom OT3, no matter what setting they're placed in or what things change, are nerds who smash. That's it, that's the fic.





	1. Bondage (Doom AU canon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The OT3 takes advantage of some time together, and remind their healer of a thing or two, thanks.
> 
> Overall fic title comes from Love Bites by Judas Priest

The bonds are oddly cool, and subtly shift around his wrists even when held stock-still. Whatever they’re made of dips into every hollow, sticks to every curve and still remains smooth as glass. To be honest, realistic even, no matter how hard he struggled or fought, they’d never be broken.

Bargaining them off was a whole different matter, but this wasn’t a night where bargains were made.

As his back arches with the scrape of teeth down his neck, the teasing line drawn down his ribs with claws like ice, his wrist tense up and the bonds don’t even slide an inch. If anything they thicken as there’s an amused hum from his left, brush against his pulse in something close to a caress, and the gag is the only thing that keeps a whine from being heard. 

After dealing with the Coil you’d think leather would be banned everywhere, but in moments like this it was _perfect_ for a gag _._ Had enough give if something happened, and all it took was some scissors to get out of. Probably one of the better things they’d figured out after the first time trying this.

(Slim calloused fingers trailing down his cheek, his jaw, a low purr of “You need a reminder, love,” and all he could do was breathe out a soft “Yes,” before fingers threaded into his hair, before he was kissed-)

There’s a harsh bite to where shoulder meets neck and he moans, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the sheets. It’s a bigger hand that curls possessively over his left shoulder, blunt nails digging into his skin, and he’s fucking weak as claws trace some unknown design over his stomach, weak as he isn’t sure which direction to go in. Towards Ophelia on his left with words that drip like water from her tongue, the brief kisses pressed to his jaw, his cheek a sharp contrast to her claws. Towards Crowley on his right who only leaves his neck in order to laugh lowly, nuzzle into him and all but purr “She’s right, darling,” in a way that makes his skin buzz.

Crowley who nips at his ear lobe teasingly, murmurs so lovingly, “Just a pretty thing for us to eat,” and he’d never fucking known it was possible to be this hard without his cock even being touched.

Ophelia’s fingers wrapping around his cock makes him nearly swallow his tongue though, teeth clamping down on the leather of the gag hard enough to ache. Crowley’s arm across his chest is the only thing that keeps him from arching into it almost desperately, sob muffled and broken by just the first lazy stroke. The claws are gone now but there’s still nails digging into his shoulder, another agonizingly slow stroke that makes him shake, a low laugh against his neck that makes him want to moan -

More bonds snap into place just long enough for Ophelia to slide into place, get her knees on either side of his waist, hovering so close as she strokes slow and teasing that it wouldn’t even take a _second_ for her to sink down if she wanted to-

It’s a desperate almost pained noise that comes out around the gag when Ophelia’s hand leaves his cock, presses to his stomach. Crowley’s fingers trace along his jaw, rasp against his facial hair, and teeth sink into a spot right near his pulse, make him brokenly moan. Ophelia laughs, and it’s a low husky thing that makes his cock twitch, makes him buck slightly against the bonds around his wrists in an aroused haze. All that earns him is the hand on his stomach gaining claws, teasingly digging in, and he shivers like a leaf, breathing harshly through his nose-

Crowley makes an amused noise, nails dragging over his heart, dragging over the tattoo there, and he fizzles around the edges. Fingers twitching to tangle in the sheets, toes curling, and a missing moment of time that he’s jolted from with another bite close to his collarbone, claws scraping over his hip.

“What’s wrong, tiger?” Ophelia teases, leaning slightly to trail her thumb over his bottom lip, and the gentleness of it has a soft noise leaving his mouth. Leaves a shiver going down his spine, especially when paired with Crowley’s chuckle against his collar. She grins slow and lazy when their eyes meet, and his breath catches as she drags her thumb down his throat, barely skimming it.  

“You’re always so expressive voiceless,” she muses, tilting her head to the side so some hair falls over an eye, and there’s an edge to her grin. Something that borders on downright predatory, and he wants her, wants her teeth, her claws-

A low needy noise manages to break free and she laughs again, almost carelessly as she drags her nails down his stomach again. Teasing and taunting all at once, and Crowley’s mixing kisses with light nips near his collar, down his chest before sitting up-

“Mmm, look at her, darling. Our beautiful Queen,” Crowley begins, sounding close to love-struck as he takes Ophelia’s free hand, pressing kisses to her knuckles, her wrist. Shifts enough on the bed to end up by her side, and seeing both of them together as he leans in and kisses her with teeth, makes a soft hungry noise as she tangles fingers in his hair, bites his bottom lip-

One of Crowley’s hands drifts between Ophelia’s thighs and arousal hits Lem like a brick. Makes him wish he was free right now to be flush against their wife’s back, able to kiss her neck, her shoulders, feel her up until she melted in their arms. When Crowley’s fingers come back slick, Ophelia letting out a breathy moan against their husband’s lips, a sound of absolute want manages to escape around the gag.

“She’s so wet for us, Lem.” Crowley continues, voice a bit rough and rasping in a way that’s just another shot of arousal right to the man’s cock. Everything they’ve fucking done the last few minutes has made it worse, made him ache for them. “Should we show him, panther?” Crowley asks Ophelia lowly, fingers trailing down her cheek tenderly, and her replying grin is sharp, predatory, knocks the breath right out of Lem even without it being turned directly on him.

“Happily, bear,” Ophelia damn near purrs, stealing one last kiss from their husband that Crowley happily leans into, takes advantage of for a grope at her ass that makes her laugh. As she laughs there’s a hint of pink on her teeth, blood on Crowley’s lip, and Lem can’t help how he shifts at that, hips digging into the bed. Can’t help how he freezes as their eyes are drawn to him for it, and there’s a hunger there that makes it all too believable he’s still just a pretty thing for his spouses to _eat._

Fucking hell, he loves them more and more by the second with the sting of scratches on his skin, the ache of bite marks scattered all over him. Loves them as Crowley presses his thighs down with a grin, a low “Can’t have you doin’ that just yet, darling,” that makes him shake.  As Ophelia sinks down on his cock without hesitance, so warm and wet and slick that he goes light-headed, fingers tangling in the sheets again. Just this shade of too sensitive, too aching and needy after being worked over for fuck knows how long anymore.

Ophelia fucks herself, plain and simple. No pretty words for it as she moves on his cock hard and fast, enough for his breath to catch in his throat, enough for his heart to try and climb out of his chest.  Crowley’s hands resting on her hips, her own hand going to her clit, and when she moans he can’t help how he bucks up into her-

Later on, he won’t be able to say how long it all went on for. Won’t be able to figure out how long it was just the smell of sweat and sex in the air, a soothing chill wherever their skin brushed his, Crowley’s own sounds muffled against Ophelia’s neck and Ophelia loud enough for all three of them. All he knows is that he’s rocking into her like his life depends on it, at some point the bonds around his wrists disappear and his fingers tangle with Crowley’s on their wife’s hips, too boneless to do fucking anything else-

(Lem makes a soft content noise resting his cheek against Ophelia’s shoulder in the bath, fingers tangling with Crowley’s as the other man runs a hand down his ribs, asks a soft “You alright?” All the healer can manage is a vague noise of agreement as Ophelia’s fingers card through his wet hair slowly, lazily, and he melts between them, eyes closing. The warmth of the bath is enough to soothe his aches, make his scratches twinge a little in a satisfying way, and all the skin contact is like _heaven._

He’s theirs just as they’re his, and hell if the passing thought isn’t enough to make him smile as he absently nuzzles into Ophelia’s neck.)


	2. Cunnilingus (Doom AU canon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ophelia has a request, and Lem is more than alright with it.

He sinks to his knees, and barely registers the stone floor already digging into his jeans. The only thing on his mind, the only person he even has eyes for in the entire room, is her. The Queen who can make him shiver with the slightest touch, make him pause with a single word.

In the flickering candlelight, she’s a figure from legends of old. As if Aetulia and the Five Ladies had sat down to shape a woman in their image, sorrow and passion combined with strength and power, and she was the result. All the litheness of a panther on the prowl, a sly smile on darkly painted lips, and eyes so dark they were like the Sea.

People who say you only drown in eyes as blue as the ocean have never seen it at night, with the sea foam looking like clusters of stars and the moon barely visible within its depths.

Such a sight had left him stunned when he was younger, and even now he was breathless as fingers trail gently down his cheek, a thumb brushes over his bottom lip. Cool fingers thread through his hair, cradle the back of his head, and all he can manage is a hum of contentment at the gesture.

“Whatever will I do with you, tiger?” the Queen muses, tilting her head to the side like a curious bird, and he can’t bite back the soft noise he makes in reply. Can’t help how he shivers as she tilts his chin up, practically baring his throat to her.

She grins suddenly, slyness replaced with an outright predatory edge, and she could do fucking anything to him right now and he’d thank her for it.

“Make yourself useful, and we’ll go from there,” She finally declares, words dripping from her mouth like molasses in a low purr, and he could _melt._

“Anything for you, my Queen,” he manages, sounding a bit hoarse to his own ears, and he reaches out carefully, gently, to rest his hands against her thighs. Can’t resist the urge to press a kiss to a spot near her hip, before she shifts just enough that the spot is out of reach. Her skin has the faint taste of brine where her dress usually lay, is soft under his mouth, and how did he ever get this fucking lucky.

A soft huff of a laugh escapes when her hand tugs him forward slightly, a quiet order to do as asked, and it’s all too easy to follow through. Give her the worship and adoration that such a woman deserves, after she’s already stolen his heart so thoroughly.

Lazy slow licks to her clit that make her breath shudder a little in the loveliest way, make her grip tighten in his hair. The briefest pause for some air, most of it spent on a soft, fleeting murmur of “Ophelia,” against her thigh. The word darling keeps wanting to spill off his tongue, even as he goes back with less caution to all but drink her in.

(Crowley kisses him when he gets back, and grins like a fucking metal beast as he says “I love it when you taste like her, darling.” By Aetulia’s fucking voice and the Five Ladies’ kindness, how did he get so lucky to have them in his life?)


	3. Masturbation/Seduction (Lady Doom AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In at least one variation, the Doom is run by women who fight the world tooth and nail. 
> 
> Here we have Kill Mistress (Lempi) being a nerd and taking some time for herself, and immediately ends up flirting with her girlfriends afterwards.

Lempi slinks into her tent with weariness on her shoulders, a certain tenseness in her spine. Leans her bass against the stool next to her cot out of habit, shucking her jacket and unbuttoning her shirt barely a moment later. There’s a certain way she does things, a certain routine, and she lets out a huff as she scratches at her collar, sits down on the edge of the cot to wrestle off her boots.

Boots get chucked over to where her jacket is, chest wrapping joining the pile soon after, and she falls back onto her cot with a sigh. Scrubs at her face with a hand, quietly grateful she’d managed to wipe it off the paint beforehand. “Aetulia’s teeth...”she curses under her breath as she presses an arm over her eyes, and lets out a frustrated sound as the ache in her leg worsens when she stretches it out.

She’s tired, exhausted in the way healing all day wrung anybody dry, but there’s almost a buzzing under her skin. Something she hadn’t been able to shake after being pulled into a waltz by Ophelia, pulled into another double team by Crowley. Usually it was burned away, the flare of healing or burst of poison, but tonight it just… lingered.

Left her with a restless feeling, unable to do more than stare at the tent ceiling above her as she ran through earlier in her head, absently pressing a hand to her heart in an effort to center herself.

All but cheek to cheek with Ophelia, breath catching as their eyes met and the Drowned woman’s were as dark and vast as the night sky. The Sea sounding like loving murmurs when her bare wrist pressed against the Queen’s, the other woman’s smile a sweet promise mixed with darling threat. Enough teeth in it to send a shiver down her spine, and Lem had words trapped in her throat, wrapped around her heart as well when Ophelia’s lips brushed the back of her gloved hand.

Hand clasped in hand with Crowley, grip damn near bruising as they collided like the waves on the surf. Close enough to see the paint on the General’s lips crack as she laughed, the sound low and rich and enough for Lem’s heart to skip a beat, close enough to catch the flash of a grin that was closer to light catching on the edge of a blade. The feeling of Crowley’s thumb wiping away some of the blood on her lip in the aftermath, such a tender look in the other woman’s eyes that it left her speechless, the tips of her ears burning.

Up until now, her hand’s settled easily close to the curve of her stomach and just… idly traced a mark here, another one there. Absent brushes along stretchmarks that her opened shirt can’t quite hide, callused fingertips catching slightly on the light dusting of hair above her waistband. The other is over her heart still, a reassurance of what lays within, and to be honest…

It’s so easy for Lempi to close her eyes, and imagine that the cold of her fingers from Doom’s oncoming night is the sweeter chill of Ophelia and Crowley’s touch. Easy to let her fingers drift a little further, under the waistband of her pants to press gently against the jut of a hip, under the edge of her open shirtfront to rest lightly at her breast. Kind touches, sweet things that settled some of the energy rattling around her body, but still it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough to just feel the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, wasn’t enough to imagine that she was sleeping between them again. Ophelia’s hand near her heart, Crowley’s resting at her hip, and any second one would nuzzle into her neck with soft murmur of _“Lem,”_ that was quietly devastating. Wasn’t enough to imagine their lips against the back of her neck, at her throat, their nails digging in-

A soft noise, close to a sigh or hitch of breath, leaves Lempi’s mouth as she drags her nails across her skin. Bitten nails instead of Ophelia’s neat ones, bass callouses instead of Crowley’s axe-ones, but it’s still so easy to slip into fantasy.

Easy to imagine Crowley’s _“So needy, darling_ ,” that’d be murmured against her neck, followed up by a sharp nip as the hand wandered lower, teased Lem through her shorts. Never quite hard enough for friction, but just fucking enough to make her breath harder anyways. Imagine how Ophelia’s pleased little hum would feel against her throat as the Queen played with her breasts, stroking over them lightly, flicking or brushing a nipple as the mood struck her.

(Lempi swallows back a moan as still-cool fingers make it fucking impossible to lie to herself that the thought of their teeth in her neck doesn’t leave her wet. Can’t lie that the idea of being pinned between them doesn’t sound like fucking heaven, doesn’t make her heart pound a little-)

Crowley’s hand slipping into her shorts, fingers trailing over her inner thighs, occasionally brushing down her folds teasingly as the Drowned woman nuzzles into her neck. Ophelia dragging her nails across her breast, kissing down her throat to her chest, nipples peaking under the attention, a fond “ _So responsive, Lem, it’s cute,”_ that has warmth trickling down her spine, into her stomach with every huff of cool breath against bare skin. The one boot she has firmly planted on the ground digs in a little deeper as her hips arch with an imagined murmur of _“Darling”_ , as she shifts just enough for fingers to explore easily, cheek pressing into the blanket underneath her-

She’d beg.

Aetulia help her, Lempi would _beg_ for them to fingerfuck her considering how she needs to muffle a groan with the slick slide of the first finger into her, at the first clumsy brush of her clit with a thumb. Can’t quite roll her hips into uneven thrusts, can’t quite fix the clumsiness if she wants to be fucked, but there’s still that damned buzz of arousal spreading over her anyways even if it’s awkward. Still that shiver down her back with every brush of her clit, that fizzy feeling as she imagines their bodies against hers, that shakiness down to her bones as she adds another finger and her breath catches in her throat-

It’s been too long since she did this. Too long since she was light-headed and a bit breathless from rocking on her own fingers, able to indulge. A needy sound escapes before she can stifle it as her fingers go to her clit, stroking and teasing and doing every damn thing she’d denied herself for years _._ Head fucking healer and she hadn’t even been able to moan, was forced to play silent if she wanted a damn minute by herself. It doesn’t matter anymore if she’s unravelling, falling apart at the seams out of desperation alone-

When she comes it’s quick, feels like a branch being snapped in a second. Slowly tensing and tensing until it hits her, until her ribcage feels too tight and she’s shaking even as she’s locked into place, feeling like she’s trying to hold on to…something, hell knows what. The first scrap of peace she’s had in ages, perhaps.

Her heart pounding in her ears is the only reason she doesn’t hear the footsteps. Doesn’t hear the soft conversation taking place outside as she tries to breathe normally again, fighting back that light-headed feeling. The shifting of the canvas tent flap could be confused for the wind disturbing it, so why worry?

“Well, if I knew it was going to be dinner and a show…” the Queen drawls from the front of her tent, Crowley letting out a low appreciative whistle in agreement, and her fingers are still sticky when she laughs a bit breathlessly in reply, un-fucking-surprised when the very women she was thinking of make their presence known. Still sticky when they slip out from under her waistband, and she offers them a tired wave because it’ll be a good minute until her second wind. She’s kissed both of them, shared their bed even before all this, and shame…

Well, the Doom didn’t care much for shame, and that was something Lempi was glad to indulge in at the moment.

She’d wondered before if all she’d ever get was a kiss or two, only a night with them before they realized the mistake they made. Loving a broken healer, when they could honestly have anyone they wanted. A thought she hadn’t quite been able to shake, been able to shed since the confession, and yet…There’s a picnic basket on Ophelia’s arm, a sort of hunger in both their eyes as she sits up slowly and her shirt doesn’t quite settle to cover everything. It all makes her heart hurt a little, being so openly wanted, desired. Over the years she’d gotten used to her work being all anyone wanted off of her, the only thing even vaguely of worth, but with this… It was something that left her wanting to weep for a few hours, a wound being cleansed that she hadn’t ever realized was there.

Something that made her want to laugh, too, because it was among the dead where she came into her own, was allowed to finally be seen as _herself_ rather than some title.

“Would’ve waited for dessert, if I knew you’d be here,” Lempi says, careless in the way of someone stating fact, offering them an innocent smile as she oh so casually removes a stolen handkerchief from her pocket, wipes her hand clean. Her smile gets a bit of an edge though, with the way Crowley’s eyes widen slightly at the gesture. The bassist might be rusty when it came to being in love, but even she still had a sense of how to entice.

Ophelia laughs, a low amused sound that sends a shiver down more than one spine, and rests her cheek in her upturned palm without care. Crowley must look about as love-struck as Lempi does in that moment, both of them moths drawn to their Queen’s light. “Who says we can’t have seconds?” Crowley replies a bit breathlessly, unable to hide the shred of awe in her voice with eyes still on Ophelia, and Lempi can’t help it when she laughs at the phrasing.

It’s a light happy thing, the first glimpse of stars beyond the fog, and she hasn’t felt this way in a very long time. Long enough to forget what it was like to have sunlight in her heart, forget what it was like to have people that made her grin bright and easy rather than something rough around the edges. Love isn’t a panacea, something that would fix the world, but…

Damn if it wasn’t one of the sweetest things to have now and then.

( _This is what starlight tastes like,_ Lempi thinks almost tipsily while kissing down Ophelia’s neck, drunk on her lovers’ touches, their kisses. Makes a soft sound when Crowley’s hand slips up the back of her shirt, nails dragged down her spine carefully, teasingly. Both of them taste like blackberry wine when she kisses them, and she melts into their embraces.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did research to see what kinds of wines were real. Yes, blackberry wine is real. These are the kinds of things I google, lmao.


	4. Exhibitionism/Against a wall (Doom AU canon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is a flirt, and Lem is a weak bastard who can't refuse. Even if it means a sore back, _he's getting dicked._

The Doom loves its ruins, its crumbling decadence.

From the shores of the Sea to the outskirts of the Dry Ice Mines, there are the echoes of lives long since gone. Half-fallen walls, remains of old iron-wrought fences, stone shaped in ways only humans would do. Who else could have such a fascination with memorializing the dead, with angel statues and engraved tombstones, words long since faded by the elements? Everything was rounded off and softened by the rains, overtaken by nature where the Doom hadn’t cleared it away, and for what it’s worth the Doom lands had a kind of…charm to them, because of that.

It was a land half-forgotten, and what better place for the living dead?

Any other time, any other day, he’d be wandering here with his partners. Taking a breather from plans of battle and war, murmuring sweet nothings when the mood struck them, laughter and conversation drifting easily through the air. Still figuring out where they stood with each other, how to go about things, but in a way that felt natural as breathing.

Today, however…

He’s got Ophelia’s commands ringing in his ears, a Frightwig chittering to him about the group of Headbangers headed this way, and the lingering memory of this morning as his only comfort. Waking up to kisses and murmured endearments, Ophelia’s breathless moan of “Lem,” against his neck, Crowley’s calloused hand pressed against his back…

He closes his eyes for a moment to center himself, before falling in with the Brides. A raven among a flock of doves, and they are beautiful, terrifying, all in one fell swoop. The duster keeps the bass strap from cutting into his neck, the weight of the coat close to an embrace, and today he doesn’t want to go to war, doesn’t want to fight. All he wants is his partners by his side, and some fucking _rest._

But he’s got a job to do, a bass line to play, and hopefully this will all be over soon.

*

He’s between healing groups of Doom, taking cover behind part of a collapsed wall when someone lands with a heavy step behind him, and he turns around already lashing out with an arm-

Black wings with a vague feathery look, tan jacket, dark skin, _Crowley._ When a cool hand catches his arm, a smug expression crossing his partner’s face, he lets it stay caught. Can’t help the sheer feeling of relief that sweeps over him as he’s helped up, Crowley pressing a brief kiss to his gloved hand.

“Darling Groom, where’ve you been all my life,” Crowley rumbles, voice low and with a slight rasp that makes his mouth go dry, but he snorts anyways. Manages to steal back his hand so he can set his bass aside, and replies as evenly as he can “Doin’ my fuckin’ job, unlike some people.” The bark of a laugh that earns makes him close his eyes for a moment, trying to commit it to memory. Crowley’s laughter was either raspy and worn from a day of shouting orders, or low and absolutely fucking breathtaking in the darkness of a room, loud and free in the strange light of day.

Any time he heard it, heard either of his partners laugh, it felt like healing for the first time. The rush of magic thrumming through his veins, compounded with joy because finally, finally, it worked. Everything made sense, fit into place, and the world was a brighter place knowing that, knowing them.

But a gentle touch to his cheek brings him out of his thoughts, and there’s a certain quirk to Crowley’s mouth. A sort of tenderness that’s almost tangible in a strange way, only able to be felt by how their magic tangles together, intertwines. Healer’s gift and the Sea’s touch, what used to be terrifying whispers turned into sweet nothings, and somehow it works.

“Thought you’d be takin’ a chunk outta Riggs by now, dear.” He comments almost idly, hooking an arm around Crowley’s neck out of habit more than anything else. This close, he could see the small cracks in his partner’s face paint, hints of dark skin underneath the stark white and black. This close he could meet the other man’s eyes, and see the faint blue tint to the dark brown. Aetulia only knows how it got there, but it ranked high up among the loveliest things Lem had ever seen.

“What can I say, love, all I want is you, hopefully up against that wall there,” Crowley replies with a faint smile, something oddly sweet even as the words leave a faint shiver down his spine, and…

Well.

_Well._

It’s hard to say no with the way Crowley cups his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone gently enough to leave his own paint undisturbed. Hard to say no with a healer’s melody pounding in his chest, the smell of ash and roses clinging to him a stark contrast to his partner’s warmer, earthier one. The natural magic clinging to Crowley feels like a summer afternoon right now, a warmth that someone could sink into, and it’s been the kind of day where he craves that. Wants to go back to this morning before the scouts showed up, just the three of them in the comforting dark, wrapped up in each other in a way that was getting harder and harder to come by.

He’s done more ridiculous things than this, so what’s one more to the list.

“…If you drop me,” He begins gravely, closing his eyes as he leans into the gentle touch, “you’re fuckin’ dead, an’ I don’t even care about havin’ to explain to Ophelia why.” There’s a low laugh in reply, the faintest shift of Crowley’s hand on his jaw, before a warm rasp of “Oh, darling, I’m already dead, so where’s the threat?”

Before he can let out anything besides a chuff of a laugh, cool lips press against his and it isn’t even a thought to thread fingers through Crowley’s locs. Isn’t a thought to lean into him, until there’s that familiar push-pull of one step forward, two steps back that’s been theirs since the beginning. Lem laughs a little breathlessly when his back hits the collapsed wall, cool hand gently pressed against his chest, and nips at his partner’s bottom lip teasingly.

The low growl that earns makes him want to purr _,_ and all he can manage is a satisfied grin as he ducks his head down slightly, presses a kiss to Crowley’s jaw. “Seems you’re finally takin’ this seriously, General,” he says softly, unable to help himself when it comes to the other man, and the replying grin makes his heart do something funny. It’s a sharp blood-thirsty thing, one too many teeth to be a real smile, and Aetulia’s fucking breath it leaves him a little light-headed.

“Always take my work seriously, Lem,” Crowley murmurs, saying his real name like it’s a precious gift, and it’s just straight-up unfair how that gentle tone leaves heat curling in his stomach. Unfair how he can’t stop a desperate noise from spilling free when the other man manages to worm an arm behind his thighs, and actually lifts him up. Such a casual display of strength, and the back of his head hits the wall with a dull thunk and a groan.

“Drop was meant as a joke, not a- not a challenge,” Lem manages to get out, interrupted by his breath catching at the scrape of teeth down his neck, a low noise escaping as a cool hand presses against the bulge in his jeans. Crowley lets out a bark of a laugh, the fucker, thumb drawing a line down his zipper, and the angle’s wrong to drag the Drowned man into a kiss, not enough leverage to arch into the touch with him this close. If a whine happens to slip out right then, if Lem clutches a little desperately at his partner’s coat, he’ll deny it until his last breath.

(Crowley will still tease the fuck out of him for the next week or so over it, but when _doesn’t_ the man tease him about something.)

“C’mon, love, help me out a little,” Crowley says, squeezing his thigh lightly while still wearing that fucking grin, and he’s weak for it, alright, weak for gentle with a bit of teeth _._ Damn well manages to wrap his legs around the other’s waist after that with some awkward finagling, finally close enough he can bury his face into Crowley’s neck. There, just barely above his shirt collar is a mark Ophelia left, and Lem can’t help himself when he bites at it. Claim upon claim upon claim because who were they if they weren’t each other’s, because Crowley makes this little groan in the back of his throat that’s golden every time, because Lem wants and is allowed to want, and gods does he want.

He wants Crowley in that desperate hungry way that was terrifying if you weren’t careful, that ended with the taste of blood from a split lip and bruises that they didn’t want to heal. Didn’t want to get rid of aches that meant they’d survived another day, made it back in one piece so they could celebrate living. The Doom loved like the ocean, completely and with everything they had, and it was easy, so fucking easy to get swept away by it too.

His zipper’s tugged down as he marks up the other man’s neck anew,  hand shoved almost roughly against the front of his boxers, and he moans between breaths. A shaky quivering sound muffled in the curve of Crowley’s neck, verging on the edge of a gasp as his grip tightens on the other’s coat.  The low pleased noise from his lover makes his cock twitch, sends another shiver down his spine. “So eager, darling,” Crowley teases lowly, thin fabric barely fucking anything between cool fingertips and heated flesh, and all the air’s been knocked out of Lem’s lungs as it continues, as all he can do is hold on.

“Bet I could make you scream for me, loud enough even Riggs could hear.” Crowley all but purrs, cool breath brushing against his ear, and Lem outright groans in reply. Doesn’t even bother to resist the urge to arch into the touch, desperate for friction, for contact, for _anything._ There’s a fond nip to his ear, a kiss pressed to the spot right where it meets his jaw, and if Crowley wants him to scream then he just might as he doesn’t even try to hold back a desperate whine.

Who was he to deny his partners anything, when they were his world?

“Make Ironheade watch their lost healer come apart, just from my hand alone.” Crowley continues, voice practically rumbling against his skin, and Lem would absolutely climb out of his own right now if it meant being closer. If it meant they could finally be pressed together to the point of entanglement, the Drowned man’s chill hopefully biting into him wherever they touched. His breathe is ragged, always on the verge of some kind of sound by now, and all of him is shaking as he’s touched, as he’s teased.

 “Fuck me then,” Lem breathes almost desperately, almost like a prayer as he presses kisses to Crowley’s neck again, digging in his teeth. Anything as long as he’s doing something, as long as it means he’ll be taken apart soon enough. “Make me scream, make me yours, all I ever want to be is yours _-”_

His lover laughs, low and breathtaking, before kissing him with a clash of teeth, the sheer desperation of stolen time. Shoving down his boxers hastily, trying to shove down his pants but it doesn’t do shit with legs wrapped tight around the other man’s waist. They’re both grinning into things nonetheless though between kisses, Lem reaching up shakily to grasp Crowley’s jaw, messing up their face paint beyond any hopes of repair as his free hand fumbles with a belt-

(He’s fucked in the same position not even minutes later, back pressed against the wall, Crowley’s hands digging into his hips, head thrown back as all he can do is moan. There’s still the echo of their own stage’s music but it’s not enough to drown out the wet slap of skin on skin, change the fact that this is one of the riskiest damned things they’ve ever done-

Crowley’s teeth sink into his throat, and he shouts something that’s either his lover’s name or some jumbled mess of begging and pleas for more, and it doesn’t even matter what it was because the important thing is the General kept his promises so very dutifully.

Ophelia looks like a smug cat when they come back stained and rumpled, but she ends up making the sweetest sounds when they make up for their interrupted morning with rather inspired vigor.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm laughing, it took me like 775 words before they even got to wanting to smash. I'M GREAT AT SMUT


	5. Smiles/Laughter (Lady Doom Witches AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lempi finally breaks her contract/magical binding with Ironheade, and finds her way back to Ophelia and Crowley. It's a relief to finally be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief context: They're all magic users, Lempi is a fire user, Ophelia is a water one, and Crowley uses wind. They have a comfy cottage in a forest, and Lempi was previously terrified about them not wanting her back after the shit Ironheade pulled but SURPRISE. Her wives missed her a lot, thx.

The night she comes home, finally comes home, is the same night they take her apart.

Crowley severs the buttons from her shirt with simply a finger drawn downwards, calloused hands gentle as they push the useless fabric from her shoulders. Presses kisses down her throat, her collar, murmuring names against her skin that she’d nearly forgotten. _Darling, lovely, cactus bloom,_ and the last one never fails to make Lempi laugh slightly, even if it turns into a sigh as there’s a bite where shoulder meets neck.

Ophelia’s nimble fingers make quick work of her bra, cool kisses pressed to her shoulders, a soft “Welcome back,” that makes her shiver. There’s the ripple of Ophelia’s dress where they’re nearly pressed skin to skin, but even then it’s disappearing in pieces, slowly being stripped away as they find each other again. Lempi does her best with shaking hands to tug Crowley’s shirt up, get the soft oversized thing over her head. The loss of the other woman’s hands, even if for just a moment, makes something soft and tender inside her twist, but-

(There’s a scar, a rough jagged thing that peeks above the waistband of Crowley’s sweatpants, and all Lempi can think is _which one of them did this who struck you down did they steal part of me to hurt you?_ Eddie’s gone, the binding’s broken, but why does her mouth still taste like ash-)

Crowley kisses Lempi before the shirt fully hits the ground, locs still falling down around her face like a curtain from her shirt collar catching lightly on them.

Kisses the healer sharply, overwhelming with a longed-for familiarity, and thoughts of anything else go right out of Lempi’s mind as she kisses back. One hand runs over Crowley’s shoulder, up her neck to her cheek, trying to preserve every inch in memory. The other is still shaking, shaking with a need to touch as she fumbles for the other woman’s waistband, and Ophelia’s hand settling over hers is just… stupidly relieving, reassuring even as she tugs the sweatpants down. Crowley’s delighted laugh, swallowed up as it is between kisses, feels so undoubtedly like home _._

Surrounded by the soft murmur of water and the playfulness of a breeze, Lempi feels at peace for the first time in months as her eyes slip shut, trusting her partners with everything.

Instead of a raging forest fire about to burn itself out, the heat in her feels steady, unwavering as the midday sun beating down on sand. Fully balanced rather than pulled in different directions, no strings to hold her down anymore. Just Ophelia and Crowley’s arms around her as it once was, as it always will be. How many times did she struggle against the binding with memories of them as her comfort, how many nights spent wishing she could be back here again-

Tendrils wrap around one of her legs, the coolness of them sinking in through her jeans, and she can’t help the breathless laugh that slips free as she leans back into Ophelia, as Crowley’s hands run down her sides in a way that leaves her breath shaking.  She can’t even be angry when her jeans are stripped away in shreds, Ophelia’s cool hands stroking over her breasts, a soft squeeze enough to make her breath catch. Ophelia’s own breasts are pressed against her back, a teasing bite to the side of her neck, and Crowley pressing a kiss to her jaw-

Lempi missed them, missed this as one of her hands finds Ophelia’s hip, as her free arm loops around Crowley’s shoulders while they stumble towards their bedroom. Laughter isn’t strained, doesn’t ring false as they briefly part, share a few kisses just because they can with smiles on their lips. A loose gesture towards their record player has jazz queued up before they fall onto the quilts, a brief draw of fingers down Lempi’s hip means another pair of panties relegated to the trash, but…

All she can manage is a teasing “What’d they ever do to you,” a laugh as Ophelia replies lowly against her ear, “They existed.”

(There’s a giddy-feeling Lempi can’t shake as she kisses across Crowley’s chest, kisses down Ophelia’s stomach not even ten minutes later. Their hands all over her, through her hair, down her back, and it feels so right in a way her chest hurts a little. Pressed between them, kissing and touching wherever she can reach, she’s _home._ )


End file.
